


Queen of Love and Beauty

by Serpentina1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Love Confessions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9443840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentina1/pseuds/Serpentina1
Summary: After their safe return to King’s Landing,  Jaime Lannister struggles to tell a certain wench about his persistently growing affection.When an old tradition is recalled at the tournament of the king’s wedding, he seizes an opportunity, too precious to let it pass. And so the story enfolds…A Jaime/Brienne story.AU. Set after season 3.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations written by G.R.R. Martin. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made. The plot of this fiction is all mine, though.

~Brienne~

 

It is the usual excitement of a morning of tournament. The air is brimming with the well familiar noise and anticipation that comes along with an occasion like this.  Servants and varlets are bustling about to get everything prepared.  It is very early still. The blurry shapes of dawn are only slowly progressing into morning.

Nonetheless the humming of voices is to be heard as the crowd starts to fill the stands. Laughter and cries of excitement are mixing with the persistent, trumpet like whinnying of a prancing stallion, who refuses to have his harness placed upon himself.

The sharp clinging noise of steel somewhere close by tells her that a blacksmith is making some last attempts to flatten a breastplate or harness, probably. 

Banners and flags are flying and flapping in the wind and the bright shine of polished steel is blinking in the early morning sun as it progresses to rise, glittering on suits of armour, shields and swords alike.    

Yet today everything is different - strange.

Slowly, almost reluctantly Brienne of Tarth begins to ascend the steps that lead up to the royal podium. It is irritating that she almost trips once her foot is caught in the long floating folds of her velvet gown. Once again she feels ungainly, awkward and simply out of place. As skilfully and swiftly as she moves within a suit of armour, as wrong her every move feels now that she is wearing a dress.

The royal stands are still empty.  The wind carries the horses’ whinnying, nickering and the stamping of hooves up here.  Shielding her eyes from the morning sun Brienne leans her head back. Right above her a colourful mixture of banners, bearing the heraldic devices of those to participate, is floating and crepitating in the early morning breeze. But no golden suns and silver moons on rose or azure ground. None of Tarth. Her request to participate has been denied for being untoward and righteous scandalous.

Therefore she is not preparing for the first passage of arms now, but is pacing the still empty platform instead.

Irritated by their downright ridiculous and impractical width, Brienne brushes the bell-shaped sleeves of her dress back yet again. It is not half as revealing as that terrible pink garment they had forced upon her at Harrenhall, but of classic, unimportunate elegance and in its azure blue colour well more becoming than that fretful piece of cloth. For once it suites her in size and figure instead of those mockeries of a dress she has been compelled to wear of late, as it has been made for her alone, considering all her… differences.

At least for this she is glad.

Nonetheless she feels trapped and awkwardly put on display in a world that is not hers.  If participating in this event at all, she should be down there on the tiltyard, preparing to play the dance of contradicting swords or possibly even joust.  Being no rightful knight in the name of the king she has no right to call upon, though. She is well aware of that. Nonetheless she did take part in a tournament on several occasions, when people, eager for scandal let her participate **.** And she has done well so far. She has surprised them all. She did prove herself.

A tournament on the occasion of a king’s wedding is a different matter, apparently.

Not that she would have been particularly fond of attending this king’s wedding at all. But since she hardly has a choice in that matter, she would have preferred to face all their mockery and arrogant gazes with her armour and shield upon her – not like this. Not unguarded and out of place as she currently feels.  Not only is she unable to participate, she has been _‘invited’_ to witness the tournament as a guest of honour from atop the royal stands even. It is easy enough to imagine whose questionable _‘kindness’_ she has to thank for this.

Only the day before, at the royal wedding, Brienne had felt deeply embarrassed and humiliated when Cersei Lannister had unceremoniously told her what exactly she thought of her. In spite of the ever so charming smile upon her lips - an open slap across the face would have been so much more easy to react to and act upon.

 

~~~

 

The first other audience to join her is Tywin Lannister who sizes her up with a long, thoughtful gaze she can not quite fathom. It almost feels as if he might know something about her – something utterly important - she doesn’t. Then, however, he slightly inclines his head in a gesture of greeting, slowly, almost grudgingly, before he crosses the podium with carefully measured strides to take his seat right of the king’s.

As dawn fully progresses into morning the stands become more crowded as all the other highborn guests join them. With the exception of a polite nod from Tyrion Lannister and a shy little smile from the Lady Sansa, Brienne does not get much attention at all.

She is glad about this as well.

Then, just before the royal couple finally arrives – glorious and golden as ever - Cersei Lannister graces them with her radiant appearance. The soft floating robe of crimson velvet and golden shimmering brocade only underlines her legendary beauty.

“Lady Brienne,” she acknowledges with a perfectly measured smile, as she gracefully takes her seat right beside her. “How piquing to see you in almost suitable clothing, for a change. What quaint robes for you. So unpretentious, one might call them ‘ _stark’_ , even, yet they seem to be tailor made your you. It has to be such a relief to see all your… speciality… in such favourable light for a change. The seamstress has to be a real master of her business. You absolutely _need_ to tell me who made this for you.”

With that she raises her perfectly set golden brows, questionably.

Confounded by this extraordinary provoking mixture of carefully measured mortifications and pointless compliments, Brienne struggles once more even if it is only her words threatening to tumble over this time. So she merely stammers that she has no idea and that one of the handmaidens had just left it for her to wear this morning.

“Indeed? How Curious… You wouldn’t have a secret admirer in the end, would you!?“ Cersei declares apparently politely, but with a slightly derisive smile, while her eyes are narrowing to small slits.  A certain sign that her attitude is not quite as friendly as her honeyed words might suggest. With as much as the mere suspicion of a frown wrinkling between her perfectly ached brows she returns to her mocking demeanour of fake politeness.

“But of course you wouldn’t! That would be more than inappropriate, after all! A Lady’s good name is so easily spoiled – at court – you need to know,” she _‘whispers’,_ apparently confidentially, yet loud enough for those close by to hear.

“...and after all these nasty rumours about you and my brother concerning the long months of your – _journey…_.” she trails off not speaking aloud, what she indicates so clearly.

 Like before Brienne merely blinks in confusion at this unfamiliar strike, entirely unable to parry off the blow. So she merely turns her head away to glance across the stands and at the vast, still empty area of the tiltyard, with her jaw set in grim determination.  At this she catches another gaze from Tywin Lannister and while she is definitely used to be stared at because of her height and ungainly demeanour, not to mention because of her way of actions, it is enervating to feel this man’s appraising, inquiring eye directed upon herself.

It is only then, she realises how much she longs for Jaime to accompany and reassure her, indeed. In a way she is doing just that ever since she stepped upon the stands this very morning – how ever unbecoming and pitiful ridiculous this might be.  And just as his mere gaze did give her peace of mind and certainly only the day before, when Cersei Lannister decided to corner her, his presence alone might easily sooth her, now. She is convinced of that. It always does. Be it Bear pit or Lions’ den – it is just him she needs to feel comfortable.

On the other hand - it is more than understandable for her that he would not come to witness this tournament as a mere visitor. If even she regrets it not to be able to participate - how much more difficult and cruel it has to be for him…

Her heart cramps with a pain that is all but pity as she thinks of him.

During the long hours of night, when sleep simply would refuse to find her, Brienne has been thinking about his sister’s accessions and in the wee hours of morning her mind did finally face and acknowledge the harsh truth, her heart has been realising a long time ago – leading all the torrent of feelings, fancy and fears and to their logical conclusion.

His glorious, golden twin is entirely right about her spiteful assumptions.

Unbecoming as it may be: The ridiculously tall, plain and ungainly ‘Maid of Tarth’ did place her affection into no other than the handsome, golden Lord Commander of the King’s guard, who is rumoured to be unseemly close to said sister and openly called a Kingsslayer and who is yet – so much more honourable and chivalrous than the world does give him credit for. 

With the possible exception of a dead king who has been known to prefer the affection of another man, Brienne could probably find no match more unbecoming than this. She does not fool herself about any possible outcome other than awkwardness and heartbreak should he ever find out about that. Yet it is nothing but the plain, unlucky truth nonetheless.

Brienne of Tarth loves Jaime Lannister. 

 

~~~

 

As dawn fully progresses into morning the tournament begins. Still brooding about her own unbecoming situation, there is not much about the jousting to strike Brienne’s interest, first.Then, however, entirely unexpected to anyone, the object of her unhappy affection enters the tiltyard. All of a sudden, he is just there.

Jaime Lannister, just as golden and glorious as she always imagined a perfect knight to be, is riding in on a bright white destrier, wielding a lance with his left. 

Murmur rises amongst the crowd. Entirely taken by surprise, Brienne can not help but stare - is unable to mask the intensity of the captivation upon her features.  She – who has seen him at his lowest, maimed, clad in nothing but filthy rags and deprived of any hope at all – she more fiercely than anyone else around values the beautiful sight of his bright, confident smile, now.

It feels just plain, incredible right to see him like this.

Finally he is safe and healthy and once more she is entirely thankful that fate granted them a second chance to live up to all the expectations they might have placed upon themselves.  It fills her with an intensity of a feeling that causes her cheeks to redden. She is incredibly, ridiculously happy to see him - so entirely glad that he is here right now!

Despite her better knowledge her foolish heart is fluttering with the same pointless hopes she once held as a young girl, when - like every participant of the tournament - he stops his horse right in front of the royal stands. 

As he removes his helmet to pay the royal couple and their guests of honour his respect, his bright emerald-green eyes find hers and hold them for a couple of blissful seconds. The contrast to the broken, entirely prostrated man she has come to acknowledge, befriend and cherish during their eventful journey could not be more striking. Yet this incredibly handsome golden-haired knight on his bright white destrier is no other than the half starved and tattered man who jumped right into a bear pit, unarmed and wounded – determinant to save her somehow… even if he was more likely to die along with her…

Unable to remove her gaze from his, Brienne’s throat feels too tight to speak, too captivated to even smile as her heart threatens to beat right out of her chest. And as he smiles, her entire stomach appears to be filled with a myriad of butterflies –but long before she can even struggle to return the gesture, he already inclines his head and gallops off towards the other participants. 

An indignant sniff next to her causes Brienne to snap out of it, finally.

“You absolutely mustn’t show your affection in such an evident manner. It is bound to ruin any chance of a halfway suitable match you might ever get!”

As she manages to focus back on her surroundings, Brienne catches a piercing, triumphant gaze from her company. 

_‘See? I knew it!’_ her every gesture seems to smirk.

Brienne however merely shakes her head indignantly, before she starts thinking about Cersei and her questionable pleasantries at all, she turns to focus on the tournament, entirely. 

The first passages of arms for Jaime to encounter pass quite uneventfully since his opponents clearly do not truly expect him to stand a chance after the loss of his sword hand. But when he manages to unhorse the third opponent in a row even the last sceptic has to admit that a one-handed Jaime Lannister is not to be underestimated either. 

From then on the jousting becomes more serious.

Brienne is on the edge of her seat now – literally - as it is so incredible easy for her to empathise into what exactly he is experiencing at the tiltyard. She could not care less about the scornful smile she fetches from Cersei Lannister in return.

Then, however, his shield slips from the blow his opponent manages to perform. With a loud clash the lance splinters as it crashes right into his harness, granting him a probably nasty bruise at the right side of his chest.

He manages to stay within the saddle, though, determined to continue on with whatever this is about, but there is a faint trace of blood dribbling upon the silvery white mane and neck of his horse that indicates the seriousness of this blow.  Out of an impulse, Brienne jumps to her feet on alert and with the urgent and desperate need to see and check upon him.

Cersei, however once again raises her brows, questionably.

Slightly startled by her scandalised attitude Brienne hesitates, if only for a moment, but as she watches Tyrion leave she shakes off any rest of hesitation as she, too rises to head for his tent - finally.

 

~Tyrion~

 

There is a tumult outside of the tent.

And - even if Tyrion does not recognise that woman’s voice, there is one thing he can tell for sure: Jaime does.  At the first sound of her voice his brother’s head is snapping up. Eyes lighting up with delight as an entirely unfamiliar amount of self-confidence and nerves is crossing his features.  A fact that is even more curious since this ominous woman outside the tent is not the golden lioness Tyrion might have expected, even if the vehemence with which she seeks to enter suits the temperament of their sister. 

For all he can tell from the agitated voices outside, Bronn apparently refuses to let her pass. _‘To spare a Lady’s sensibilities_.` From the argument that follows, Tyrion supposes the Lady in question insists to enter nonetheless.

But it is his brother’s reaction that truly surprises him.

Running his fingers through his hair in a gesture of nervousness that leaves his already sweaty and tousled lannister-golden hair in even more disarray and clearly struggling for composure Jaime calls out aloud: “I would highly recommend on letting her pass!”

His arrogant, always cocksure golden brother is utterly excited and swimming with nerves as the most ungainly woman storms into the tent.

“What are you _doing_ here!?” she snaps, glaring at him with a mixture of fondness and concern at the sight of which his brother’s smug grin slips back in place, in spite of his discomfort.

“It’s called a tournament, wench,” he declares cockily. “Jousting to be precise.”  And – with another smug grin to follow; “I’m sure you‘re familiar with the process.”

Her freckled cheeks hold the slightest shade of pink and her incredible blue eyes widen at the sudden unexpected display of his brother’s bare, blood smeared chest.  For a couple of seconds her eyes focus on the wound at the right side of his ribcage and the angry bluish-red bruise that is already forming around, apparently sizing it up.  It is clear she has seen other wounds before – and knows to size them up. She flinches at the sight of it then looks up to focus upon Jaime’s face instead.

For a highborn maiden her reaction to his brother’s uncovered chest is an unlikely one, indeed. She is not entirely unshaken like it might be expected, but it is just plain and utmost clear that she just has to have seen him in a similar state of undress before.

But instead of a declaration of adoration or shame she merely glares at him.

“Are you completely, utterly crazy!?” she admonishes, swimming with awkwardness despite of the harsh way of her speech.

“I…umm, in a way…I guess…I…” his usually arrogant golden brother stutters in response. In a fit of nerves he is, indeed, but at the same time excited, delighted, enthusiastic even…

Well that’s certainly something to gnaw at, Tyrion decides.

But with an unwilling shake of her head Brienne of Tarth already crosses the tent to gracelessly hunch to her knees beside Jaime.

“Let me see,” she demands, urgently though not unfriendly and he does not complain in the slightest.  

All there while, apparently unaware of the tension around, Podric continues to tend to his brother’s injury. Definitely nervous he is hustling and bustling about causing more pain than necessary at his untrained attempts to clean the wound. More than once Jaime flinches back in a stab of pain as the treatment continues. By the way the Lady of Tarth’s brow furrows it is utmost clear she has noticed it as well.

With an exasperated sigh she reaches out,  taking the bowl and tissue from Podric’s hands. “You are causing him pain,” she declares direct and straightforward though not unkindly. 

The familiar grumble of his companion reaches his ear. “Who’s that?” Bronn frowns, definitely amused.

“It’s the Lady Brienne of Tarth,” Tyrion hurries to inform him, unwilling to miss a single bit of the unconventional scene before him.

Mesmerised by the unexpected display of emotion in front of him, he watches as Brienne of Tarth carefully tends to his brothers injuries. Her face set in grim concentration, but not without affection as he notices. As to be expected, the balm is leaving strains on her hands and the dress of which she refuses to care.

Jaime however gasps at the intensity of her hands upon his skin.

 _“Jaime!?”_ she utters, more shyly than he might ever think she would.  The plain and simple familiarity of the address causes Podric’s and Tyrion’s and Bronn’s heads to likewise snap up in surprise.

“Jaime!?”

No more no less.  Just: _“Jaime…”_

But it is his response that really strikes their audience.  “Brienne…” he gasps.

Just one word uttered with so much affection and adoration it leaves Tyrion entirely stunned. Never has he seen his brother looking at anything or anyone in the world like this. Not once. 

With that Tyrion’s eyes are widening in sudden realisation.

 

~Brienne~

****

 

As she returns to the royal stands her hands and sleeves are strained with the telltale blots of the balm which gains her another mortification from golden, glorious Cersei Lannister. Only this time it is even less subtle.

“Tell me you’re not in _earnest_ about this! That’s downright _ridiculous_ , even for you!”

The confrontations that follow pass quite uneventful. Brienne hardly listens to her company’s jibbing and taunting anymore since she is much too tense and truly worried for his well-being now.

Then it is all over. Jaime Lannister is still alive and safe atop his horse, which is all Brienne truly cares about at the time being. Only when the barker’s praise is picked up by the cheers of the crowd, she realises the full amount of his success.

 

 ~Jaime~

 

Winterroses - so fragile and icy-blue they seem to be covered in frost - literally. 

Thoughtfully he picks the neatly wound garland from the white velvet cushion it rests upon, wondering how something so legendary and special can feel so real and perfectly comfortable once he actually faces it – not at all what he thought it would.

By then his father’s voice that is echoing across the field of tournament snaps him out of his musings.  “In celebration of King Joffrey’s and Queen Margaery’s wedding festivities credit is due to the winner of this tournament to crown his very own ‘Queen of Love and Beauty’.”

A breathless silence settles over the jousting lists and so the clattering of his horse’s hooves is the only noise around as he rides towards the royal stands, focussing on the one he loves so dearly.  Out of the corner of his eye he notices Cersei is already opening her hands, a slightly worried expression on her otherwise calm features now, when he comes to a halt right in front of the podium.

For a moment he allows the tenseness to endure – contemplating his own feelings of eager anticipation at what he plans to do.

Then his clear voice rings across the tiltyard:  “I name the Lady Brienne of Tarth, my Queen of Love and Beauty.“

Disbelieving silence is the immediate result of his words - until it is broken by occasional giggling and whispering of the crowd. Not all of them flattering.

“Brienne the Beauty.”

“ Kingslayer’s whore….”

As the King rises to stand the chattering and whispering die down in favour of breathless silence over again.

Then the silence is broken by the sound of Joffrey clapping his hands in fascination. “Priceless Uncle! That’s utterly priceless! What a brilliant jest!”

All the while his Brienne sits just there, entirely still, dazed and speechless.  It is only then that he realises he did in fact upset her.  With the realisation comes a feeling of bitter regret.  This is not how he has intended matters to go. Not at all… He should have known she might take this for mockery instead of the truth. He should have known the assumption would hurt her. He should have regarded her needs above his own.

Yet, he did not and he feels truly stupid all of a sudden. 

He has been so wrong! And he did fail her – once again, in spite of the utter seriousness of his intentions. He should have found a better way! He should have considered what made her comfortable instead! And yet – as selfish as he used to be he has not been able to think of anything else, but how perfectly the occasion suited his own petty motives. What right does he have to put her through these sheer endless moments of misery just to let her and the rest of King’s Landing know that he loves her - so intensely?

This should have been more private. 

All the while Brienne definitely avoids to really look at him, he notices, apparently unable to fathom that _he_ of all people would do such a thing to her.  But when her lovely sapphire eyes finally fix on his, threatening to spill over with unshed tears, he realised how much of a fool he has been indeed and the very realisation of it nearly breaks his heart.  He might not be half as good of a person as she is yet it physically pains him to see his actions did, in fact, upset her.

“It is anything but a joke. Your Grace,” he declares with as much dignity and reference he can muster.

 

 

~Brienne~

 

 

“Lady Brienne?” Lord Tyrion addresses her, offering her his hand so she might stand up.

Therefore she heads down towards Jaime as it is expected of her. Still dazed, very tense and upset, feeling small. Jaime however, keeps smiling at her as he is handing her the garland of Winterroses, covered in frost.

Brienne just feels tense, dazed and speechless. Confused she watches as he takes off his white kings-guard cloak, wrapping it into a neat bundle to be placed at the king’s feet.

When he is fumbling with the clasps of his harness, however, she snaps out of her daze. Immediately she assists him without comment, helps him to take the breastplate off with a skill she as a maid probably should not muster in the eyes of their audience, but creases to care. Concern is crossing her face as she reaches for his ribcage.

“So bad?” she inquires, worriedly.

At this his lips are switching with amusement. “Oh yes – it is,” he declares with a clear twinge of mischief dancing in his incredible emerald eyes.

Once more Brienne frowns, definitely confused now.

“Not there – ”

The amused switching of his lips turns into a kind of lopsided smile as he takes her hand from the right side of his ribcage and places it against the left side of his chest – to linger right above his heart.

“Here.”

“Jaime?” she utters, her confusion growing.

“Brienne,” he murmurs, gently pressing her hand as he gazes into her eyes, entirely solemn now.

“I love you!!!”

For a moment they are simply melting into each other’s eyes, finding nothing but undeniable truth in there. Truth and utter seriousness. 

And so, slowly, Brienne’s tenseness leaves her. “And I… love… you, Jaime. So very much,” she declares seriously and doubtlessly shaken but in a voice steadfast and well to be heard.

With a gentle smile of affection he kneels, with her hand still clasped in his, leaving her to even more confusion than she already feels.

Once again murmur rises amongst the crowd. It is dying down quickly enough this time, though, since everyone appears to be eager to not miss one bit of this extraordinary courtship.

 

~Jaime~

 

“What?” his gorgeous Brienne gasps somewhat defensively and without any courtly grace. 

Frantically she blinks against the pickling of tears since she is no woman to cry easily. Jaime is smiling at her with utter gentleness, taking both of her hands in his now, brushing a kiss on each of her strong, slightly callused palms.

“Brienne?” he whispers. “Please… oh please say you will?!”

Her confusion is utmost clear upon her freckled, entirely loveable features.

“Marry me…” he whispers, entirely focussed upon her and her alone now.

And so, after a few more seconds of realisation, her lovely sapphire eyes widen just as she takes in a quivering breath.

Then, after what feels like an eternity to him, but can hardly be more than a mere rush of seconds, she nods – finally…

His throat feels way too tight to speak, as he watches the display of emotion on her features. Slowly but unstoppable two thick tears spill from her eyes as she pinches them shut, biting her lip.

At this he is getting up to finally cup her cheek.  She is snuggling into the caress, shivering, as he gently rubs one tear away with his left thumb before he is leaning in to brush the other one away with his lips instead.

“Brienne…” he breezes, kissing her still closed lids, her temples and cheeks with soft, butterfly light caresses. 

“Brienne, I...”

With this he brushes his fingertips along her face.

“I love…”

Leaning forward, he closes his eyes, nudging his forehead against hers as he once again assures her of his affection.

“you...” he concludes, softly and utter seriously, “Oh wench! You have no idea how much I do.”

”Jaime…”

Just as she is reaching out, to cup his cheek, he is leaning in to kiss her - sweet and lovingly.

Gently.

Endlessly.

Brienne is melting into the kiss.  Gathering up courage she reaches out to him to return his kiss with pure, unmasked affection and as she flings both of her arms around him, so openly, it is a feeling so breathtakingly sweet and satisfying that it leaves him light-headed with the longing to – really truly – kiss her back.

He is soothing her with a couple of feathery light kisses across her eyelids and cheeks instead, nudging his forehead against hers, once more.

“Gentle, Dearest,” he murmurs nuzzling her ear with just the hint of a smile in his voice. “Don’t you think we should head for the Sept first?”  


Just as he expected his wench blushes at that. A deep shade of crimson is spreading all the way across her freckled face and neckline.  And once more Jaime is utterly stunned and captivated by the tenderness and affection radiating from her.

 

~Tyrion~

 

One can tell by looking that for once their difficult father is just and plainly satisfied and entirely pleased, indeed.

Joffrey, on the other hand is frantically complaining about his uncle’s plans to retire from the Kingsguard so sudden.

“In fact the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard informed me of his plans only the previous evening. It is certainly for the best, Your Grace,” Tywin starts to explain, “His hand…”

“He just won the freaking tournament!” his spoiled nephew cuts in, almost whining with indignation.

“Certainly, Your Grace, Tywin explains with a condescending nod. “But a lance is hardly a suitable weapon to protect the king within the castle walls. Too difficult to manoeuvre, wouldn’t you agree with that?”

Before anyone can give as much a sign of further contradiction Tywin Lannister already rises from his seat. The clapping of his hands is stunning the crowd to deferential silence.  “As matters are, we have another wedding to prepare – So cheer with me to the new Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock!”

The crowd cheers.

Before he can even start to contradict, Queen Margaery is taking Joffrey’s arm, whispering into his ear to gracefully sooth him.

 

~Selwyn~

 

When the sun, that’s ascendant he witnessed on board of his ship this very morning, finally starts to set, illuminating the old sandstone walls at the Sept of Baelor with its soft reddish glow, Lord Selwyn of Tarth comes to face one of the most solemn surprises of his life.

His question, however, for which possible reason Ser Jaime Lannister might have asked him to come to the capital, so urgently seems to be answered.

Bride and groom are wearing a likewise bright, consensual smile upon their faces, whenever they gaze at one another. And even if the amount of trust and devotion for one another they radiate, might be rarely found with a noble couple at their wedding day, since their contract might have been sealed for strategic or financial reasons in the first place, it is not entirely unusual either.

The fair-haired bride’s cheeks hold a becoming shade of rose as she gazes at her intended, her sapphire blue eyes sparkling with love and utter happiness whenever she looks at him.

That is how far common appearances go howsoever.

Instead of a feminine wedding gown of floating silk and fragile lace, said bride stands tall and proud, wearing an absolutely unique knight's armour of shimmering dark-blue steel, skilfully forged and tailor-made for her alone.

Her Maiden’s Cloak is a banner of golden suns and silvery shimmering half-moons on the rose coloured and azure blue heraldic device, fastened at the back of her armour.

Instead of any bridal jewellery at all, Brienne of Tarth wears a breathtaking sword of valerian steel with a beautifully crafted lion’s head as its pommel at her hip.

But that is not all of it by far. This special bride’s bouquet is a fragile garland of icy-blue Winterroses.

At this, Lord Selwyn truly blinks in surprise. The happenings of this morning’s tournament must have been quite spectacular, indeed.

There will be time for a probably tearfully reunion and heartfelt congratulations later on, he decides. Even if it might be a tempting imagination to walk his beloved daughter down the aisle himself, for this special wedding matters are perfectly fine as they are.

For the very moment Lord Selwyn of Tarth is entirely happy and contented to witness his little Brienne as she is taking a suitor of her choosing, just as he once promised she might. It is just what he always hoped for her to gain; to be seen, loved and appreciated _exactly_ for who she is. Apparently there must be a lot more to the Kingslayer than his questionable reputation suggests. 

In perfect satisfaction Lord Selwyn watches as Jaime Lannister’s gaze literally drowns in Brienne’s with radiant happiness, as she takes his arm and the both of them turn to solemnly walk down the aisle together.  

 

~Tyrion~

 

As the happily married couple steps out of the Sept once again, the new Lady of Casterly Rock, who is wearing a thick velvet Lannister cloak around her shoulders now, follows another old tradition as she prepares to throw her bride’s bouquet at those Ladies in waiting eager to find their match.

Out of an impulse he reaches out to clasp his maiden wife’s hand in his – urging her on to share the girls’ fun. 

“That’s not my place to be,” she declares with utter seriousness. Her slender, fragile hand still clasped in his, all he can focus upon is sweet, entirely beautiful Sansa as she stands there in front of him, too lovely to be true.

The soft thud of an object nudging against his foot is what finally causes him to break the contact. 

He picks up the fragile garland of Winterroses, wondering how a trained warrior as his newly gained sister in law can ever fail to throw a simple thing as this tiny wreath so thoroughly. 

It feels incredible right to pick it up and give it to her.

“So, as years before the symbol of Love and Beauty returns to the hands of a Stark girl,” he remarks.

Her eyes are widening in utter surprise she takes it. But it is her response that truly shakes him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve truly been a Stark girl” she declares. “Don’t you think that…” at this she descents a couple of steps to face him on eyes level just as she takes both of his hands with hers. “…I’m a Lannister bride, indeed?” she whispers, blushing but with heartfelt, utter seriousness as she leans in for the sweetest kiss of his entire life.

 

~Brienne~

 

Much later that night, after many a jest about the bride’s ability to put up a fight and cause her husband a real bunch of trouble, after she has dearly and happily embraced her father and introduced the two most important men in her life to one another, it is Sansa as her sister in law, who helps Brienne to prepare for the marriage bed. 

She gives her another one of her rare but heartfelt smiles as she picks up a brush to crew out Brienne’s short and thick, flaxen strands. “I wish I could tell you more about this, you see?” she murmurs half apologetically.

Brienne’s head is snapping up at this. “You… would not know?”

At this Sansa is blushing to the brim of her fierily hair. “Not yet, no, I’m afraid.”

A lopsided, almost girlish smile crosses Brienne’s features at this. “Guess _I_ can tell you more in the morning then…” she utters, blushing the moment she speaks the words aloud. All of this feels so unreal to her, still.

“So might I,” is the breathlessly whispered response of the likewise bushing, redheaded girl.

And as the both of them are sharing another truly heartfelt smile, Brienne can not help but think that when Catleyn Stark sent her off to exchange the Kingslayer against her daughters – _this –_ happy talk between two restlessly enamoured Lannister brides, would have been the last possible outcome she might have expected.

 

**_Fin._ **

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Well – that’s it! Turned out pretty long for a one-shot, I know, but somehow it did not feel right to separate it into chapters. I hope you did enjoy the read. Please tell me what you think. Your feedback is highly appreciated! 
> 
> Overall I prefer to see Sansa and Sandor together. Yet for this story, Tyrion just appears to be the perfect match for her. 
> 
> I halfway considered to include an epilogue – since the idea of the tall, golden-haired twin brothers Selwyn and Tywin Lannister as they are running around the yard with their sandy-haired twin cousins Joanna and Lyanna piqued me to do, but that might have been too much for a one-shot, indeed. Maybe that is a different story to tell…
> 
> Lots of thanks for reading my story and a happy smile and a big THANK YOU to SebastiansGleek for beta reading!
> 
> Serpentina


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